


Carbonara

by maximized (florfering)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Brother/Brother Incest, Feeding, Incest, M/M, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 08:33:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16594469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florfering/pseuds/maximized
Summary: Spending months apart from Niles leads Connor back into his not-so-healthy habits.





	Carbonara

**Author's Note:**

> a bday gift for a former friend! i aint exposing anyone tho so NO VIOLATIONS OF CLIENT CONFIDENTIALITY !! i originally wasnt planning on posting this but then we drifted apart and im still proud of it cause 4.5k in like a week and a half??? hello??????? depression who??? ill be real ive never even like thought about this kink before starting to write this so it was an experience and a half lol
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Look, Connor didn't mean for it to happen, okay? It's just that—he's had a string of pain in the ass cases that have led him in circles for days on end, and he's had no days off with peace of mind in months. Stern has kicked him out of the precinct with orders to rest more times then he breaks for coffee in a day, but aside from quieting down for four, five hours at a time when he passes out from pure exhaustion, his mind constantly buzzes.

He’s _stressed_. And he misses Niles, who’s fucked off somewhere to Monaco on some FBI mission thing.

He'd usually work it all off, but with his leg in a cast and out of commission from him fucking up in the Wilson case, there's not much he can do besides stew in his own thoughts, re-examining all the details of his cases again and again, either at his work desk or kitchen table.

And if he's in the kitchen, well, absentmindedly having a beer and snacking on whatever’s in his pantry is pretty fucking easy, and before he knows it, he's gone through more than a couple boxes of Sam Adams, all the empty carbs lying in the nooks and crannies of his pantry are gone, and his jeans, not exactly the most form-fitting in the first place, are a battle to button every morning, even the ones he bought to accommodate his cast.

He debates lounging around in sweatpants more as he tosses another pair of jeans in the “can’t give enough fucks to struggle to put on in the morning now” pile that's distressingly high now. He started the pile earlier that morning when he finally admitted that yeah, he’s been gaining weight, and now half his pants have made a new habitat there. When he's out of this damn cast and done with all these damn cases, he's gonna run a marathon. Twenty miles or bust.

He glares at the innocent chub he'd been accumulating over the past month. His love handles are more prominent than ever. He grabs them, squishing the soft fat.

…

He frowns.

And releases it, then slides on a pair of dress pants, struggling a bit with the cast. It's his loosest pair.

* * *

 

Getting through the day is a slog, even more than usual. Typically, calling Reed out on his bullshit makes up multiple milestones in his day that energizes him whenever he hits them, but Reed is out for one reason or another, so there goes most of his stress relief. Chen is fun to banter with, but she's not a piece of shit like Reed, so there’s less satisfaction in it.

There’s something else he's not proud to admit, but every time he sees Anderson, he’s reminded of his own pudge purgatory, and shame bubbles in his chest, both because of the weight gain and because seeing Anderson shot his mind to his stomach like a Pavlovian reaction, and really, he thought he was better than that.

Fuck, he needs a drink. His mind is not cooperating today. Hasn’t been for the whole day. Stern gives him a sharp glare as he clocks out, and he calls, “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Sleep. No work, promise.” She gives him a nod and turns back to whatever the hell she’s doing.

On his way home, he resolutely does _not_ think about how he doesn’t have any fresh groceries, or how he can’t be assed to go shopping, or how he’ll probably end up digging out some chips from his emergency bag.

When he ambles out of the taxi, crutch in hand, the first thing he notices is the fact that his lights are on. He knows he turned them off when he left that morning, so either a burglar’s regretting robbing a broke bitch like him, or Niles is back.

A rush of excitement goes through him at the possibility of the latter, and Connor shoulders his crutch with a new energy before quickly hobbling to the front porch. When he opens the door, a wall of scents hit him—and it’s of food. Like someone's been cooking.

Connor thinks he might cry.

“Connor?”

Connor might be crying.

Niles comes from the kitchen, apron wrapped around his waist with his signature turtleneck, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, prim and proper as ever.

The smile that splits Connor’s face is as involuntary as the arm that comes up to pull his brother into a hug, and Niles is quick to wrap his arms around Connor, careful of the crutch.

Connor can already feel some of his stress melting away into Niles’ embrace, and he can’t help but murmur, _“I missed you.”_ Niles pulls away, and Connor will deny any accusations that he pouts at that.

Niles slides a hand down Connor’s cheek and he leans into the touch, eyes sliding shut as he takes in the familiar calloused warmth brushing against his face.

God, he’s needed this.

“Missed you too, Con.” When Connor flutters his eyes open, his vision is filled with Niles’ fond gaze and his chest swells with affection. Niles trails his hand down his arm, then clasps his hand in his. “Come on, let’s go eat. I’ll get that for you.” He gestures to Connor’s bag, and Connor gratefully drops it in his waiting hand.

Niles helps him over to the table, rattling on about some details of his Monaco case, and even though Connor’s first instinct is to affirm that he’s alright, he’s got this, he could use his crutch to knock someone out if he tried hard enough, being coddled over by his younger brother is a break he’s needed for _months_.

Niles sits him down at the table, then stoops to press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t get too lonely while I get out the pasta.”

Oh, fuck. Pasta. Food that wasn’t chips or protein bars. Food that was Niles’ cooking. Connor is so fucking blessed. He drinks some of the water Niles left for him. When Niles sets down the plate in front of him, Connor has to take a moment to take it in. Pasta carbonara, it looks like, with pieces of something he assumes to be fish. He glances around for a fork but finds none. “Niles?” His question is answered by Niles soundly sitting opposite to him, stabbing some pasta and fish and lifting it to Connor’s mouth, a hand underneath the fork to catch any fallen food.

Connor’s flush is quick, and it burns on his face. He swallows, because, _fuck_ , he’s hungry and the sauce _glistens_ in his shitty fluorescent lights, but he wants to feed himself, thank you very much. His _leg_ is broken, not his arms. Those motherfuckers still work.

His eyes dart to Niles’ gaze, and he’s surprised by how _sincere_ it is. He genuinely wants to feed him.

“What the fuck, Ni?”

Niles’ expression both softens and intensifies. “I want to take care of you, Con.” At Connor opening his mouth to protest, he continues with, “Don’t worry, I already ate.” He swallows, his next words soft but steadfast. “Let me have this.”

He’s so _earnest_. Connor drinks more water to avoid having to look at his eyes. He’s wavering, no matter how much he clings to the last semblances of his pride, and with Niles parting his lips to let out a soft, _“Please?”_ , his will crumbles entirely.

When he closes his mouth over the pasta, the noise he makes is nothing short of obscene, eyes fluttering shut. It’s creamy as _hell_ and the smoked salmon pairs perfectly with the slight tang of the lime. Niles’ spice blends are simple, but they work well with each other, complementing the natural flavors of the salmon. Connor’s probably crying again.

 _“_ Oh my god, _Niles_.”

Niles pauses before withdrawing the fork, but Connor only vaguely notices it, too focused on leaning forward to dart his tongue out for another taste of the sauce left on the metal. Before long, there’s another piece in front of him, and Connor happily takes that one into his mouth, this time turning it over on his tongue while chewing to get all the flavors again. His reaction this time is just as pleased, and he’s suddenly feeling a lot hungrier than he did stepping out of the taxi.

“Is it good?”

Connor stops chewing, despite his stomach screaming at him to stuff himself. He looks at his brother dead in the eye, mouth set in a grim line.“Niles, I’d take this carbonara over a blowjob in a heartbeat.” And it’s completely true.

Niles snorts. Connor is serious. He moves to refill his water.

A second passes before Niles is laughing, head shaking and eyes falling shut. He turns his focus back on the pasta, stabbing a couple more pieces with a fond smile, which makes Connor grin too, sipping at his water. He likes making his brother happy. Niles brings the fork back up to Connor, who greedily takes it into his mouth. God, that’s fucking delicious.

While Connor’s fluttering his eyes at the _sauce_ , Niles gathers more pasta, saying, “You know, it’s not like it has to be mutually exclusive.”

Connor’s still hung up on the smoked salmon, so he focuses in on Niles and says, “What?” Eloquent.

Niles has his gaze trained on the plate, trying to get as many pieces that will fit onto the tines. “Having the food and the blowjob.” His eyes flick up to meet Connor’s gaze. “You could have both.”

Connor swallows, and wow, that hurt a bit going down. His throat aches, and he swallows again. Maybe something’s stuck there. He drinks more water.

“That—” Connor pauses. He would love to, but he’s feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. The way his soft stomach presses against his jeans, spilling over the waistband, is at the forefront of his mind. He knows that Niles is still in good shape—FBI agents have to be—and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle that difference between their bodies when he already lingers on how much more toned Niles is every other time they fuck. He also knows that Niles won’t make fun of him—too much, anyway—but still.

Connor must have taken too long to answer, because Niles is stabbing more pasta onto the fork, saying, “Never mind, you must be tired. We can just sleep instead.”

Connor wants to take the out Niles is offering him, but he also doesn’t want his own shitty ass self-image to prevent him from being intimate with Niles. He could try it tomorrow, but he should jump right into the deep end. ”No, I want to—it’s just. It’s stupid.”

Niles huffs a laugh. “What is? Sucking your dick?” But he looks back at Connor anyway with an inquisitive head tilt, raising up the fork again.

Connor grins. “Fuck off, man.” He takes the bite, chewing slowly because, _fuck_ , that sauce is gonna be the death of him, but also, he doesn’t know how to explain why he’s so hesitant on this. Well, he knows _how_ , he just—he needs a moment. He’s avoiding Niles’ gaze, intently studying the water damage stains on his ceiling, and wow, his face is getting pretty warm. He can hear the clinking of the fork against the ceramic plate.

When he swallows, the feeling of it going down his throat is more noticeable than usual, and he clears his throat, turning his gaze back to his brother. “I… I may have been… not eating well recently.” Niles feeds him another forkful.

“But we’re fixing that now, aren’t we?”

“Well,” he says, drawing out the _‘e’_ sound, “not in the sense that I don’t eat a lot, but the other way around.”

Another forkful. “Con, are you telling me you’ve been feeding yourself nothing but shitty ramen and chips again for the past couple months?”

 _Yes._ “No!”

Niles gives him a _look_ , holding the fork with pasta precariously dangling on the edge away from him and his mouth. Tragic. Connor defends himself with an, “I add vegetables! Spinach and shit, y’know?” And with his piece successfully delivered, he leans forward to capture the pasta.

Niles shakes his head in disbelief, then goes back to loading more pasta onto the fork. “Why is that so important?” But it’s as soon as he asks the question that Niles seems to realize the answer. He narrows his eyes at Connor. “You know I wouldn’t care about something like that, Con.”

He sounds a little hurt. Connor swallows, and _that_ hurts going down too.

“I know! It’s just. I can’t help but notice the differences. Like, you’re—” he gestures to all of Niles, “—and I’m—” he points to himself. His arm drops, along with his voice. “You’re built like a fucking olympian, Niles. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Niles puts down the fork. A shame, considering he had only had a little less than half of the pasta. He takes Connor’s face into his hands, elbows propped up on the table, holding Connor’s gaze captive with his fierce icy blue eyes. He’s slightly intimidated. Mostly turned on.

“Con, we're going to finish dinner, and then I’m going to show you just why you don't need to compete.”

Connor swallows, and a lump forms in his throat. Niles’ eyes soften, and Connor can see his pupils dilate a millimeter or two. ”In fact, you’ll see why I _adore_ it.”

 _Adore?_ Did Connor hear that right? Connor opens his mouth to question it, but Niles presses a finger to his lips.

“No talking from now on.” And it was with _that_ tone, the one that accepted no arguments, no protests—low and commanding. A tingle of shivers rocks up Connor's spine, and his eyelids drop. He feels some blood rushing down south.

Connor nods, first slowly, then quickly. Niles gives him a proud smile, then picks up the fork again. “Finish this, then the quiche in the oven, and then we'll go to the bedroom.”

Oh. That’s going to be a lot of food, especially since Connor’s going to be eating it all himself. What is he planning?

“Safeword?”

 _Oh_. Oh, okay.

“Coffee,” Connor says, then slowly closes his mouth over the pasta offered to him.

“Don't think, Con. Just let me take care of you. Enjoy yourself.”

Niles’ voice, warm and soothing and familiar, settles over him, and yeah, Connor can do that. They finish up the pasta carbonara, with Niles collecting the leftover _sauce_ and letting Connor clean it off the fork.

When the plate’s completely clean, Niles gives him a smile brimming with pride, then leans forward to kiss him soundly. Connor sighs into it, leaning forward to follow his brother when he pulls away to get the quiche, but the table stops him. Damn. Connor slumps back into his seat. With his crutch, it'd be too much of a hassle to follow his brother. His erection has flagged, softened until most, if not all, of the blood was rushing back to his stomach, but he can’t really bring it in himself to care.

When Niles sets the plate down in front of him, faint coils of steam still rising from the center, Connor feels another pang of hunger, but it’s almost _dulled_ with the way he anticipates what will come after they’re done with the food.

This time, Niles sits next to him and turns Connor so that they’re facing each other, knees knocking against each other every so often. He cuts out a slice, and sets it on a separate plate, then cutting off a small piece with the tines and doing the exact same thing he did with the pasta, holding it up to Connor with a hand delicately poised under the fork.

Except this time, the action layers Connor with a sense of safety. The shock and embarrassment are gone, now, and all that’s left is the knowledge that Niles will take care of him—that he doesn’t have to worry about anything.

“Take a bite, Connor.”

He eats in a haze, losing himself to the repetition of the rhythm of Niles feeding him. He’s full about a quarter through the quiche. He starts chewing slower, taking more time to swallow the fluffy egg pastry.

Niles slows down, too. Halfway through, it’s an effort to swallow every bite. Niles is murmuring encouragements to him, and Connor soaks in them, letting them curl in his chest and stomach. He thinks the pasta’s heartiness is kicking in, because he feels exhaustion tugging at him. Lethargy seeps into him, bone deep.

About a fifth of the quiche is left. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to finish it.

“You can,” Niles says.

Can he?

“You will.” Niles slips the next bite into his mouth.

Connor is _so full_. He chews it anyway, closing his eyes to focus his attention on the movement of his jaw. He can do this. He’ll do this for Niles. His body protests when he tries to swallow, but he forces it down. He can feel it going down his throat—the sensation is so noticeable.

He blinks once, then twice, and moves to sluggishly unbutton his jeans, but Niles stops him with a pointed look. “Wh—” he starts, but Niles cuts him off, pushing another forkful of the quiche at him. Okay.

The next bites pass by in a foggy haze. When Connor finishes the last one, he slumps back into his chair. He doesn’t think he can _move_ , much less having sex with Niles.

Niles seems to have predicted that, because he gives Connor another sweet kiss and tells him not to worry while whisking away the dishes and cutlery.

Connor has no idea what Niles is planning, but he tries giving him a nod of confirmation. It probably looked like a head twitch. Niles probably understands. Connor hopes that Niles doesn’t do the dishes. He’ll probably fall asleep before Niles finishes.

Niles is back a second after the thought crosses Connor’s mind. Not doing dishes, then.

Connor's hit with a bout of nausea, but it recedes a bit when Niles cards his hands through Connor’s hair, and Connor stretches up into the touch, soothing and calming.

“Ready, Con?”

Connor lolls his head back to look at up at him. Niles’ hands follow the movement, scratching lightly at his scalp now, and Connor feels like his blood has turned into ooze with how sluggish he feels.

“Yeah.”

Thankfully, Niles doesn’t even try to tell him to get up. He doesn’t pull him to his feet either—that'd be a bad idea, considering his crutch.

Instead, he lowers himself and slides an arm behind Connor’s back and his other under his knees, careful of the cast. Connor has the thought of protesting, but his arms are around Niles’ neck. Huh. When Niles straightens up, he lifts Connor like he weighs about as much as a sack of feathers. Connor’s legs dangle in front of him and he tucks his head into Niles’ chest. It’s firm. Solid. Cool.

As Niles carries him to their bedroom, Connor feels everything in his stomach slosh around, and _wow_ , he hasn’t felt this full and sleepy from a good meal in a long time. See what happens when you leave, Niles? Not that he ever holds it against him. What Niles does is actually important.

Speaking of his brother, he sets him down at the headboard. Connor pulls a couple pillows over to support his back, which sounds like firecrackers are going off in his spine when he leans back. Damn, his posture is shit. Maybe he could ask for a massage from Niles later.

“Later,” Niles confirms, and ah, his brother can read minds. Or he said it out loud. Both are equally likely.

Niles unzips his jacket for him, and Connor wants him to both undress too so he can ogle his brother, but also not, because he doesn't know if he'll be able to take it right next to his own flabby stomach. Either way, it's up to Niles in the end, so he'll see how it goes.

Connor wordlessly moves when Niles needs him to, pushing himself forward when Niles takes the jacket, and reluctantly lifting his arms when he divests him of his shirt after some encouragement and reassurances.

Conor lets his gaze drift down, and something ugly settles in his chest when he saw how his fat protrudes over the waistband of his jeans. Fuck, he really needs to work it off. Niles is probably thinking about how much he’s gone off the deep end—

But Niles is brushing his fingertips over his stomach with something that Connor is too afraid to name, but it might be akin to _reverence_. His breath feels hot against it, and Connor squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his fists that rest at his sides. He can’t bear seeing what would happen next, even though he’s not expecting anything. He just knows it would make something squeeze painfully in his chest.

“ _Lovely_.”

And there it is. Niles continues to slide his hands across the expanse of his stomach, pressing a bit into the pudge at his side, not enough to be ticklish. It’s all Connor can _feel_ , coupled with the aching deep in his chest and the weariness weighing him down even further.

“Connor, you’re gorgeous.”

Niles presents a kiss to his soft stomach. Connor can’t believe it. He won’t. There’s no way that his pudge is something that could be viewed as attractive. He shakes his head, the pangs in his chest threatening to overflow as something like a whimper—or tears.

“It’s true,” Niles insists.

 _“How?”_ he manages to rasp.

“To me,” Niles starts, gently rubbing his fingers into Connor’s stomach, at the front. He massages in, continuing with, “It means that you’ve been taken care of.” Wrong, he gained weight because he ate continuous garbage for a couple months straight.

“And I know those aren’t the exact circumstances, but I’d like to think so.” Niles moves his hands to his sides, and Connor squirms, both at the slightly ticklish sensation, and also at the positive attention lavished on him. Niles barely ever was this verbose and unrestricted with his affections. “I’d like to think that I’ve been the cause of this, that you’ve been eating my cooking and letting me take care of you like I want to.”

“... Your cooking is pretty fucking fantastic,” Connor admits. His voice is gravelly, and it’s probably because of the lump in his throat that makes it hard to speak. He swallows again, then covertly wipes at his eye with his shoulder.

“I know.”

“Oh, you ass.” And the tension in his chest begins to diffuse. Niles looks up to smile at him, then moves down to unbutton Connor’s jeans, and he lets him. The relief when he does is almost orgasmic in and of itself. Connor finally knows what it’s like to be able to breathe again.

“Lie back for me, Con,” And Connor can’t really lean back more, so he moves his whole body forward, each shift taking way more effort than should’ve been necessary. When he’s far enough forward, he slumps backward, and, _ooh,_ that’s nice for his back. He lets out a sigh, feeling more tension drain from his body.

“Don’t ask me to move again, ‘cause I don’t think I can.”

Niles huffs a laugh. “Is that so?” And he slips Connor’s dick from his boxers, stroking it to full length. Connor breathes in deeply, slightly arching his back and curling up before letting out all the tension and air again. Man, he's fucking tired.

Niles presses a kiss to the tip of the head, and Connor feels something in his chest warm at that. He has to defuse. “How sweet, brother dearest.”

Niles looks up at him to pointedly roll his eyes, and Connor laughs, which is cut off when Niles wraps his lips around the head. Connor doesn't think he'll last long—it's been too long since Niles was home, and his shit diet lowered his libido. Good for not jacking it every other day, bad because he fell out of practice. Well, not that bad depending on how he looks at it.

Niles starts massaging his thighs as he lavishes attention onto the spot just underside the head, and those familiar sparks of pleasure ricochet up his spine again, diffusing across his body, but also dulled by the lead weight of exhaustion dragging at him.

After a bit, Niles moves to take his cock into his mouth again, not unlike how Connor was diving for the pasta earlier, and the thought makes him huff out a laugh, until Niles sinks down further, his nose starting to press into his stomach, and, _fuck_ , that should not be as hot as it is. Niles hands move to gently massage at his balls as he noses at the fat.

Connor’s head hits the headboard behind him, and the pain only contributes to the overwhelming whirlpool of sensation flooding his senses. Niles begins rubbing at his stomach again, too, and that's beginning to be too much. Sweat gathers at the nape of his neck and slicks down his chest.

It's not long before he's tensing up, balls drawn up tight to his body. He would try to bury a hand into Niles’ hair, work his hips to chase his orgasm, but he can't put forth the energy. His orgasm is entirely in Niles’ very capable mouth and hands.

“Niles, _please_ ,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. A few tears leak out, and his head keeps tilting back of its own accord.

Niles goes down to the base, his forehead pressed against his stomach now, and swallows around him. The rippling around the head is what tips him over, and Connor feels the tension drain from him in waves. Niles is still swallowing around him, and the overstimulation is a bit much, but Connor can't _move_.

Hours pass by in minutes. Connor comes back to himself in layers, but the exhaustion from before seems to have multiplied, and he can barely keep his eyes open. He slowly blinks, then rolls his head forward to look at Niles.

“Kiss,” he says, and he sounds like a petulant child, but Niles is crawling up to meet his lips anyway. He tastes salty and it's a little disgusting. How Niles could swallow that, Connor doesn't know. Another one of his many talents, probably.

When Niles pulls away, Connor lets his hand fall on Niles’ crotch where his dick’s straining against the zipper and makes an inquisitive sound.

“Tomorrow,” he says, pulling Connor down so that he's laying flat on the bed.

“Cool.” And hey, a blanket’s covering him now. Niles slips into the space beside him, cuddling in close and Connor feels very warm, with the way the heat seeps into his muscles and chest. Niles is warm too.

The perfect conditions for sleep to overtake him. He hears himself murmuring a soft, “ _Love you_ ,” as he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> also updates cause i dont use twitter anymore!! ive got a real ambitious hanahaki au planned with lovely brocon as always and i might post my kinktober wips cause god know i wont finish them but still wanna share em with the masses .,,.., AS A WRITER OF RK1700 BROCON WHERE EXACTLY 2 PEOPLE COMPRISE MY AUDIENCE! lolololololol
> 
> also in the midst of robofucking rk1700 week i am the sole provider of nasty brocon,.,.,. this will be the hill i die on. also ive found that the more brocons i write the fewer fucks i give about characterization while i go ham with self indulgence FBSDHJFBDSJHFBDS ill try to reign it in for the hanahaki tho :3c 
> 
> as always, all my love to my good friend ollie who indulges with me in the sweet sweet forbidden nectar of incesty brocon and cheered me on to the very end. love you my good bitch <3


End file.
